These days I seem to be existing and not living.

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Speak your mother tongue,
Much more, love your fatherland.
The latter is greater: action speaks louder

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We gave them the chances to rule and lead us,
We assist them to get to the post of wealth,
We lift up their heads to limelight, we built our trust in then, we took them away from poverty and made them somebody in the circle of politics.

We believe doing all these to them will make them wipe away our tears and make poverty seize from our homes, but they made their pocket deeper and they store in there all funds that will transform our lives for good to theirs only and snatch away all the betterment we are suppose to enjoy to their joy.

They believe it’s their turn to experience augment, with the use of words and the works of pen.
They sworn in with Holy Books to do this and do that for us once they are emerged the winner of the time.
But all of their words has disappear into the thin air.

They use our blood, sweats and tears against us just because they needed our votes. They used our strengths against us, they use our rights against us, they punish us for minor mistakes, but pardon their biggest errors. They destroy every cases that will spoil their reputation
But add more fuel to the cases of any civilian claiming they are using the laws of the lands.

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Am unique

They see us differently
Some ask question
Some stare at us
Why we don't walk
Others just laugh at us
While some turn heads
Don't take our disability for granted

Yes! I was born different
When you look at me your eyes are always filled with disgust
When I attempt to talk to you, you give me blank stares
You see us as beggers
But am no longer scare or shy of my condition
You see my movement so erratic
You see my condition as a curse
I wonder why you see it that way
But I see it as a blessing

It makes me unique
I didn't search for it
But disability search for me
Everything happens for a reason
So if you can't help me
Just keep moving
Before you make fun of me
First try to picture yourself as one of us
I bet you can't stand it
So we're not curse
We're blessed and unique

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Snap good moments that will never make it to the social media. Control the narrative.

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You earn respect only when you are doing something different, perfectly.

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The mornings on my weekends are
always elongated and it worth it. In
the twilight of my sleep I remain, lying
awake wondering what the future will hold.

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Eighty-eight Poem of 2020
Enough to the Brigand Terror !!

The Street talks about the unusual silence
The Skies now weeps for the son of the soil
The Earth now soaked in the crimison liquid that holds life

The North no longer sings of its Glory days
When peace of mind was the anthem of our heartbeat
The Seasoned Travellers from the south no longer come to dwell at your Oasis
The inhabitants afraid to call you home with pride

For the air surrounding your once Noble grounds
Reek of human blood shed by inhuman brigands

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STILL, THE FLAG BLEEDS

In her gaiety and peaceful self,
Once again, she dressed up adding candour to self,
After been raped for sixteen years,
Walking along the corridor of power,
Trying to gain her integrity and dignity,
She was advised by her friends on how to maintain her beauty,
Mildly, she gave a listening ear,
Though, never did she apply their folly.

In her gaiety, she's still in distress,
Her purse is no more powerful anymore,
Only if she can twist the clock a bit,
The sojourned kids she beget never stopped hurling stones at her,
Those domesticated kids she breastfeeds mocks her daily,
Yesterday Kauta stole her gold to stain her integrity,
At twilight Chijoke gave her a resounding slap,
This morning Lamidi attempted to rape her,
In all of this chaotic bliss, she loves her children dearly,
Recently, her mineral resources yielded much,
Her vegetation continues to soar in positive anticipation,
She hopes someday it will be peaceful,
Unfortunately, her kids are shredding her dress while she walks along the corridor of power with dignity.

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I Am Zamfara III

I go to my home, I am dead
On my way to work, I am dead
I go to the farm, I am dead
I go to the market, I am dead
I go to school, I am dead
Our children walk outside, they are dead
Yet you cruise in the air,
A glass sip of orange juice with no despair
It seems, an inauguration is more important than our death
This is Just a month later, I fear the next level of our future

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